


Familiar Surprise Party

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Come From Away - Sankoff & Hein
Genre: After Gander, Diane POV, F/M, Falling In Love, Sharing a Bed, do not copy to another site, falling asleep together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Diane's confusion about what will happen after Gander leads to sleepless nights. By the time she returns to her home - exhausted, confused and sad - she just wants to climb into bed. A knock on the door changes things.
Relationships: Nick/Diane
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Familiar Surprise Party

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is not RPF  
> While Nick and Diane in the musical are based on real people, this story is set strictly in the fictional representation of them in the musical, ‘Come From Away’. I haven’t done any research into their personal lives, and anything further than what is canon in the musical is completely made up, with the exception of some geographical details. This is not intended to represent the real life couple in any way, their thoughts, attitudes or actions. It’s just my brain saying, ‘what if?’, as it does to every story that resonates with me.

Nick was sound asleep. Diane should have been but there was too much whirling through her head to allow her to rest. The room was noisy with the restless motion of uneasy bodies, and the unfamiliar susurrus was less soothing than she’d have thought. Even now, almost a week after they’d arrived, her brain wasn’t lulled into sleep by the incessant white noise.

She wondered if she’d ever be used to it – and how long she would be there to acclimatise.

Easing her body up, Diane decided to go in search of a hot drink. Coffee was probably a bad idea, but wrapping her hands around hot ceramic while curls of steam caressed her face sounded blissful.

The cafeteria lighting was muted, but this was the hub of the building and never completely stopped. Over the nights they’d been here Diane had been amazed to see people here at all hours. It was strangely comforting to think that there would always be someone around if she needed anything.

“You alright, hon?” a voice asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

“Can’t sleep,” Diane admitted.

“Tea?” The woman asked, and Diane nodded. In moments her fingertips were pressing to hot ceramic, just as she’d pictured.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and took herself to a quiet corner to think. Most people were sitting in pairs or small groups, talking quietly in a variety of languages. One pair was playing cards; another couple of men had a board game she’d never seen, black and white stones covering the board. They were studying it intently, new stones occasionally being added in a pattern she didn’t recognise.

All the unfamiliarity made her feel suddenly terribly homesick. She raised her tea to her lips, shaking a little at the force of it.

Diane closed her eyes. She could picture the airport, the drive home; the colour of the dirt along the highway, the smell as they passed the pizza place she always ordered from. The kid next door would be playing his new drum kit, and the thought made tears pool in her eyes all of a sudden.

She had no idea how much he would have improved. Her original vacation of ten days was almost doubled by now, and if he’d played every day – as he seemed to intend to do – surely it would be closer to music by now? Diane supposed she would find out on her first day home, whenever that would be.

She closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks as she raised the tea to her lips. It was hot, but didn’t scald her as it slid down her throat. The almost-too-hot was exactly what she needed right now. With a sigh, Diane pulled the elephant in the room – or her head, at least – out into the open. She wasn’t lamenting the progress of the drummer, or the absence of pizza here in Gander. She would experience both those things soon enough, now that the American airspace was open again. They’d clear the runways soon enough, and their flight would be back on the way home to Dallas.

Her home.

But not Nick’s.

And therein lay the rub. It was her home, and she would collect her bag and pass through customs, enduring the short drive back to her house and her life, the mundane worries returning to her until this was just a memory.

But Nick…he’d collect his bag and try to book a flight back across the wide ocean. Diane had no idea if they would keep in touch or not. She sighed, drinking again. It had taken a little while for her memory of the screech in to return, and her kissing him certainly explained Nick’s awkwardness the following day. What it didn’t explain was why he’d continued to keep the same distance as they had before that night. If he had wanted to be kissed, surely he’d have made some kind of overture, however tentative? Instead he seemed even more uptight than earlier, and Diane was sure she could see a film of sadness over his expression when he didn’t know she was watching him.

Relaxing her spine, Diane sat back, settling into the cushions behind her. It was anybody’s guess how much longer they had here, and it was unlikely she would have the opportunity to drink beer again. Dutch courage was out, then. With one attempt behind her, and Nick’s apparently disinterested reply, Diane found herself even more hesitant to try with him. Was it better to keep the memories she already had? Lord knew she didn’t have the kind of self-esteem that could take two rejections in a row, no matter how polite and adorably accented they might be.

Especially from Nick.

Another sigh, and Diane realised her tea was gone. Her dilemma was no clearer, but her eyes felt a little heavier so she thought it might be possible for her to sleep again. With a smile and murmured thanks to the dishwasher, Diane left her mug on the bench before heading back. She visited the bathroom, looking at herself with critical eyes as she washed her hands. No makeup for sleeping, and she could see every missed hour of sleep in her tired eyes.

Melancholia crept over her heart, and when she wound her way through the sleeping forms, Diane sat herself on the edge of her cot, watching Nick for a few moments. His mildly concerned expression was relaxed in sleep, and without his glasses, his face looked younger. The kindness and patience was still writ there, Diane imagined, and she wondered idly if this was the last time they would sleep next to each other. The thought exacerbated her mood, and she found herself fighting back the tears again. Crying wouldn’t help her situation, though, and she shifted her weight instead, lying down on her cot and closing her eyes. With any luck, sleep would visit and she would be able to deal with things in the morning.

“Diane.” A voice came, a hand on her shoulder.

She hummed, shaking off the hand. There was a dream, something she wanted to hold onto, a story she was desperate to see through to the end. Something was happening, something important…

“Diane!”

“Nick!” she cried, sitting upright, eyes flying open. The story was fading fast, but the emotion stayed with her as she gasped, heart thundering in her chest and ears at once.

Fear.

Loneliness.

Desperation.

“Nick?” she squeaked, turning, still blinking. It was still dark – darkish – in their rooms, and though Nick was the only one sitting up and looking at her, Diane had the impression several people around her were awake. Heat flooded her cheeks as she realised he was looking at her, fumbling with one hand for his glasses before settling them on his nose.

“What?” she asked him.

“You were…dreaming,” he said carefully.

Diane frowned. Why would he wake her if she was dreaming?

“You seemed upset,” he said, voice apologetic. “It woke me.”

“It woke a few people,” another voice added grumpily from beyond Nick.

“Tom!” a voice admonished.

With a tight smile, Diane stood up and wove quickly through the beds and out of the classroom. She didn’t remember the dream, but clearly it was distressing enough for her to have made noise, and enough of it to wake Nick, and the man next to him too, from the sound of it. She slowed, wrapping her arms around herself as she wandered aimlessly through the halls of the school. With the lights dimmed, it looked different, and before she knew it she wasn’t exactly sure where she was. From the look of it, this was an area of the school she hadn’t been to before; every classroom was occupied, but she didn’t recognise the artwork on the walls or the room numbers pinned up beside the doors.

It was late, of course, and Diane didn’t want to wake anyone, so she kept walking instead, figuring that if she stayed inside she would eventually come back to her classroom, or the cafeteria or some other place she recognised. Not that she was looking hard; her feet kept plodding along, eyes on the institution grey floor as she continued on her way, not really caring where she ended up. The dream was unnerving enough that she wanted to avoid sleep, even if it meant walking the halls all night. She wondered fleetingly if exhausting would stop her brain from conjuring such disturbing dreams. Only if she was lucky, she thought. It would hardly be fair to say she was well rested now, let alone after a night pacing the halls, and look at what her brain had decided was okay.

“Diane?”

She looked up at the sound of her name, unsurprised to see Nick standing in the hall. Glancing around Diane realised her earlier theory was sound, and she’d ended up back near their classroom. Without speaking, she looked at Nick, waiting for him to say something. It was harder than usual to keep her balance; was she swaying?

“Are you going to keep walking?” Nick asked.

Diane nodded. She didn’t know what to say, and any conversation seemed to be more fraught with potential disaster than anything else. Best to just keep her mouth shut and maintain the status quo, as painful as it was becoming. Besides, a lot of her concentration seemed to be focussed on remaining upright at the moment.

“Might I walk with you?” Nick asked, hesitating a long time before he spoke.

Diane nodded again, and he fell into step, his longer legs taking slow paces to match her pace. She was grateful he didn’t launch into conversation; instead he seemed to be trying to get her measure, to decide what tack to take. It was fine with Diane. He could take as long as he liked.

They walked through the halls together, the quiet sound of their footsteps the only regular sound as they walked past dim classrooms full of restless bodies. It was quiet and contemplative, and Diane found she relaxed despite herself. They had talked so much since arriving here, and yet Diane was always astonished at how comfortable they were in the silence. One day in particular – it was David’s birthday, and Diane was upset at not being able to see him – they had walked for hours without speaking, following a track out of Gander and back again. She’d been reluctant to go and do anything, but Nick suggested they find somewhere to take some photos of the wilderness to show David and that had convinced her. His tactful silence was awkward until Diane understood he had no intention of breaking it; he was absolutely content to walk in silence with her, no inane small talk needed.

The company was exactly what she needed. They’d grown noticeably more comfortable with each other since then, and Diane wondered if he felt the change. She had no idea how to put it into words, though, and so the words remained unsaid.

 _You’re sad when you don’t think I can see you,_ Diane thought, wishing she could say it, could ask him about it.

“Diane,” Nick said suddenly as they passed the art room for the second time, “might I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Diane replied automatically. She felt herself tense as she waited for him to speak again.

“You might think this presumptuous,” Nick said, and Diane braced for something, “but I would very much like to call you when we return to our respective lives.” He paused, glancing at her before adding, “I am in Dallas fairly often. Perhaps I could take you to dinner one evening?”

Diane felt her step stutter at his words. Far from presumptuous, she thought with a smile. He was almost so diffident as to be recommending her against him, and yet her heart skipped a beat at the idea. It sounded like he was asking her out, but she couldn’t be sure. A man asking to ‘take you out to dinner’ meant a date as far as she was concerned, but he might not see it the same way.

Steeling herself, Diane looked up at Nick, her pace slowing as she held his eyes, trying to figure out if he was suggesting what she thought he might be. It was hard to tell, between his guarded expression and the dim light. She would simply have to decide – if he was in Dallas, would she want to see him?

“Yes please,” she said, the answer as clear in her as anything.

He smiled, shoulders dropping a little with relief, and the possibility shifted closer to the idea that it was a date he was proposing.

They kept walking, the silence wrapping around them again. Diane had questions now, about how often he was in Dallas and when he might return but she didn’t want to push anything. It was enough that he wanted to keep in touch. Enough for now.

Eventually they arrived at their classroom again, and Nick convinced Diane to sleep again. She agreed, the extra few hours enough to keep her going through the next day. And then the mindless hours of nothing ended, a whirlwind of action taking them from shelter to plane to take-off within hours.

And now they had landed.

As they stood in Dallas airport, people buffeting around them, Diane was exhausted, yet her every muscle fibre seemed to sing with tension. Nick was due on an airplane, at least in theory; she knew he’d left it to his work to book him a flight back to London as soon as possible. They had exchanged contact information on the plane, Diane holding in tears as best she could and Nick not mentioning it. Only the brief hug around her shoulders acknowledged it, and she wondered for the hundredth time how he felt about her. The plane was not the place to begin that conversation, though, not at the beginning of an eight hour flight which would conclude with him boarding a plane back across the Atlantic Ocean.

“So, you’ll call?” she asked, the words feeling lame in her mouth.

“As soon as I get back,” Nick assured her.

They smiled at each other, neither speaking, and finally Nick nodded, the same sadness clouding his eyes before he turned and walked across the terminal, presumably to find out the details of his flight back to London. Diane watched him, frozen to the spot. All she could see was Nick’s back receding, other people walking between them until he was engulfed by the crowds and finally disappeared.

And then I was alone, Diane thought to herself. It felt like a quote from some long forgotten book, but she couldn’t remember. After a second she shook her head, looking down. It was almost a surprise to see a carry-on bag in one hand and a suitcase in the other; it took a second before she realised she would have to get herself home.

“Right,” she said to herself, swallowing hard. Nobody was here to meet her. She’d left a message for her sister from the airport, but she’d urged Charmaine not to come. It could take hours, and after their previous false start she didn’t want to leave anyone waiting at Dallas airport for her. It wasn’t a great difficulty to find a taxi to take her home, and once they were on the way, she found herself staring out the window. The view was exactly as she remembered, but completely foreign at the same time. Was she different? Must be, after everything that had happened in the world and to her. Old landscape, new eyes, she told herself.

Broken heart, her brain added, and without warning tears began to run down her cheeks. It was true, and there was nobody to blame but herself. Her cowardly self, frightened of the possibilities, more content to stay in the unhappy safety than to take a risk.

When the taxi driver stopped, she paid him without really looking. From his reaction she’d tipped him far too much, but she didn’t even care. Everything happened on autopilot – the stairs up to her door, jimmying the lock a little to get it to turn, the exact angle to stretch so her keys would drop in the bowl on the hall table. Her house smelled exactly as a house shut up for a while would, and for a moment she was transfixed by the dust motes floating through the air, unable to figure out what was so wrong with the familiar space.

It was quiet, but it had always been quiet.

_Gander had never been quiet._

It was still, but it had always been still.

_Gander had never been still._

She was alone, but she had always been alone.

_In Gander she had never been alone._

_In Gander she’d had Nick._

With a sigh, Diane closed the door behind her, locking it by feel, her eyes closed for a long, agonising moment. Was he in the air already? Or facing a wait of hours before his flight took off?

How far away was he, right now?

Resigning herself to not knowing, Diane stood up, breathing deeply for a moment. Her eyes were drawn to a light in the kitchen, which was odd. Her heart kicked up automatically.

“David?” she said.

“In the kitchen,” he called.

That was strange, she thought. Surely he’d come out to meet her if he was home? Another deep breath – even a few words with her son would be a stretch at this point – and she walked through the hall and into the kitchen, which was…

Full of people.

She stood stock still, feeling the shock on her face as she surveyed the faces, familiar even as they swirled together. Her son, sister, brothers – others her brain registered but could not identify – they melded into one wide grin, one pair of watery eyes, one expectant expression.

“Welcome home!” The cry rose, a scattered beginning that joined into a coordinated chorus at the end.

She stood still, blinking. Was she meant to speak? What was she supposed to say?

“Thank you,” she whispered. Something splashed onto her hand, and she looked down, not understanding until a tissue appeared that it was a tear. A hand was holding the tissue as it was pressed into hers, and she had to remind her brain to tilt her head up so she could see who it belonged to.

“Too much?” her sister said, and Diane nodded mutely. She looked down again as more tears splashed onto her hand and the tissue. Charmaine’s head was turned, and she was whispering to someone. Diane didn’t have the energy to try and figure it out; watching the tears fall was enough right now. She could vaguely feel the room shifting, and there was a quiet murmuring, a change in the energy. It flowed around her until Charmaine spoke again, close and concerned.

“Di?”

Diane was pulled out of her fascination with the dropping tears. They’d slowed anyway, like the last few seconds of popping corn.

What a strange analogy, she thought absently. Looking up, her mind still halfway thinking about popping corn, she blinked at her sister.

“Hi,” she said. Her own face stared back – well, a version of it, bearing her sister’s expression on the face so like her own.

“You’re home,” Charmaine said, pulling her into a hug. Diane started at the sudden hug, though her arms wrapped around her twin after a moment. They didn’t move for a while, Diane wondering how long Charmaine was considering standing here. As long as she didn’t have to do anything, it was fine with her.

“Are you alright?” Charmaine asked. She’d pulled back, finally, and now she was standing close, looking at Diane with concern.

Something moved behind her, and Diane realised the kitchen was empty except for the two of them and David.

“Everyone’s gone,” she said.

“Yes,” Charmaine said.

“Sorry, Mom,” David said from beside her.

Diane turned to look at him, blinking before pulling him into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered to him.

“Me too, Mom,” he told her.

Finally, she let him go, breathing out as she did. “I’m quite tired,” she said. It was an understatement; her body felt suddenly close to collapse. Between the stress, the lack of sleep and the time difference, she was simply exhausted and could imagine nothing better than falling into bed for as long as it took.

As long as it took to forget Nick. Not that she was going to explain that to either of the people now looking at her, identical frowns on their faces.

The doorbell rang, and Charmaine went to answer it, leaving Diane and David in the kitchen. Diane wrapped her arm around her son, holding him mutely for a long beat before she let him go again.

A second later Charmaine returned, a familiar wry grin on her face. “It’s for you, of course,” she said to her sister.

“Too tired for visitors,” Diane told her.

“He’s in the front room,” Charmaine replied, ignoring her sister. She turned to David. “Come on, we’re going.” Over her shoulder she told Diane, “Call me when you’ve slept some.”

Diane nodded, blinking. Who on earth had Charmaine let into her house? She couldn’t imagine who would be insistent enough to refuse to leave without seeing her – and why wouldn’t Charmaine simply turn him away?

Blinking with fatigue and hoping this person would be easily convinced to come back, Diane took the dozen or so steps into the front room.

Nick was standing by the window, hands in his pockets, looking utterly exhausted.

No, not exhausted. Defeated?

Diane blinked again. She didn’t even have the energy to ask him what he was doing here; he’d explain, if she gave him enough time.

“No seats available for a few days,” he said, and she could hear the same utter exhaustion in his voice. His eyes were clear but that sadness was there again, as thought he’d not really expected anything, not really thought it through, but here he was anyway.

_He came here. When he couldn’t go home, he came here._

The questions that she hoped he’d answer now seemed irrelevant. He was here, and she was here…and that was all that mattered. Calm flowed through her, not erasing the fatigue but smoothing its rough edges. She knew what to do, now.

Without speaking, she extended one hand, standing still until he shifted, moving hesitantly closer until he tangled his fingers with hers. They were solid and warm, and she watched until they anchored close. A gentle tug and they were walking down past the kitchen and study, the bathroom and spare bedroom to Diane’s bedroom. Her usual reserve about doing such a thing was wiped out by everything that had happened, and it was nothing at all to step into her bedroom, Nick’s hand still held in hers.

She kicked off her shoes, looking to Nick as she did. He followed her lead, watching as she removed earrings and necklace, her watch resting on the bureau as it always did. This time, his landed beside hers, and she took a minute to consider it.

It took only a moment to pull the blinds, dimming the room, and without self-consciousness she turned on the en-suite light. Darkness – complete, night-sleeping darkness – seemed too much after everything in Gander. Only the quiet rustle of fabric disturbed the air as she pulled back the duvet; Nick looked uncertain, but she shed her cardigan and slid into the coolness of the sheets. Thank goodness she liked to change the sheets right before going away; it made the return heavenly, and even more so after this particular trip.

Another wordless action, and the duvet flipped back on the other side of the bed, her hand holding it open. Nick looked at her for a long time, his expression inscrutable in the dim light. Eventually he shed his jacket, hanging it over the door handle before joining Diane. She could feel her body begin to relax already, and it took the last of her energy to slide over and settle against him, a sigh of relief escaping as he brought one arm tentatively around her shoulders. Three deep breaths, tension melting out of her with each exhalation, and Diane was asleep.

The next morning when she woke – or it could have been afternoon for all she knew – Diane had the feeling of being sucked back up from a deep hole. Her rest had been so complete that she now felt disoriented. She was in a bed. The sheets smelled familiar; the duvet was tickling her nose. Someone had left a light on, which meant _Gander_ , but the bed – and the sheets – and the person cradling her – all said _Not Gander_.

Actually, the person said _Not Gander and Actually What’s Going On_.

Diane blinked, shifting, trying to kick her brain into gear enough to figure out what was going on. She turned away from the tickle, wrinkling her nose, only to find it pressed against a different fabric. A fabric covering something substantial and warm. Something that was rising and falling steadily. Something that smelled familiar.

Nick.

Memories flooded back, her brain working much faster now that she’d had untold hours sleep, and she recalled breathing him in on the plane during their brief embrace. That was where the recognition came from, then. And then there was her return home, the welcome home that bombed out and her sister and son’s concern. Everything from coming in the door was hazy; her head had been thick with fatigue and grief and confusion. But Nick had been there, and something in his eyes told her he would not object to this. Resting together in her bed, fully dressed but cuddling close.

And from the way they were wrapped around each other now, they had slept the same way. Diane could feel his heart beating against her cheek; he was still asleep, from the heavy weight of his arm across her back. Much as she wanted to stay here, her bladder had other ideas, and reluctantly, she eased out of his embrace, wincing as he sighed at her absence.

A few moments in the en-suite and she stood in the doorway. It was light outside, but that aside she had no idea of the time. Her phone was still in her bag, her watch on Newfoundland time; besides, it didn’t matter. Her body felt heavy, but her mind was clearer than the previous day. She was still tired, though, and couldn’t think of a single preferable activity than returning to be close to Nick. Carefully, she crawled back into bed, wondering if she could wiggle back under Nick’s arm without waking him.

It seemed she was too late, and he was awake already. Diane could feel his apology as he eased back across the bed.

“I’ll come right back,” he said quietly.

She heard him pad out of the room, then return, skirting the end of the bed to the bathroom.

The door closed and she closed her eyes, trying to let herself drift off again. It didn’t take much; by the time Nick’s weight fell onto the mattress again it jerked her out of a light doze.

When her eyes opened they fell on Nick, frozen, his own eyes wide as he looked at her. Time moved past until Nick slowly returned to where he had been, close to the middle of the bed, arm held out slightly as though inviting but not expecting her to come closer.

She was already moving before she realised what he was doing; the press of their bodies again was a relief, as though the connection had given her something she didn’t even realise she was missing until it was broken. Nick must have felt something, because he rolled a little towards her, his face pressing into her temple in what might have been a brief kiss. Diane wasn’t going to potentially ruin the moment by asking, but she couldn’t help herself burrowing into him just a little, the arm she had wrapped across his stomach tightening slightly in acknowledgement.

She wondered if he was going to sleep, or wanted to talk; her own awareness was softening, and she knew he’d have to speak soon if he wanted an answer. When he didn’t, she let sleep steal over her again, deeply content to be so close, finally, to Nick.

Next time she woke, it was Nick shifting beside her that drew her up into reality again. This time her sleep had been less dramatic; she didn’t feel so disoriented and her mind felt close to normal. There was still daylight, though it was different now. The window faced south west and the intensity told Diane it was afternoon, if not later. They’d slept the whole day at least. Restored though she felt, Diane wouldn’t reject the idea of sleeping again in a few hours, as much to try as reset her body clock as anything else.

“Sorry,” Nick murmured, and Diane smiled. How fitting that was the first word she heard from him on this day. The day he was meant to be in London, resuming his life and leaving her to hers.

She hummed in response, easing back to give him some space.

He stretched, rolling his head as she’d seen him do in Gander, settling his glasses on his nose. Finally he turned to look at her, eyes cornflower blue and gorgeous. She eased back a little, her head on her own pillow instead of his shoulder. The pillowcase was cool against her face, a quiet reminder that she’d slept so close to him she hadn’t even used her own pillow all night.

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” Diane replied. She looked at him, still marvelling at the calm she felt. The turmoil of the unknown from Gander was gone, and she felt a certainty about her decisions that was unfamiliar. “I’m going to have a shower, some tea, and something to eat, in that order.” She smiled at him. “What do you think?”

“Certainly,” he replied.

There was a moment there, she thought, before they both slid out of bed, readjusting clothes not designed to be slept in. She moved past him, overly conscious of how close they were as she stepped into the hall.

“There’s another bathroom along the hall,” she said, opening the linen press to find him a towel. “Guest toiletries are in the cabinet. Help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Nick said.

Diane smiled at him then returned to her bedroom. She didn’t look at the time; it was still irrelevant. A shower made her feel much better – her own soap, shampoo and other items made a huge difference. She smelled like herself again, and hadn’t realised how unsettling it had been throughout their time away.

Hesitating, Diane wondered what she should wear. She certainly didn’t intent to leave the flat, let alone entertain; in fact a few hours spent quietly and she would be ready for bed again. Looking across to the door she made a decision with that same calm.

Pyjamas – light cotton, short sleeves but long pants – and her robe, the nicer one she didn’t really wear that often. No need to go all out, but a little effort with hair and minimum makeup made her feel better, and she opened the door, peering out. The bathroom door was still closed so she eased past to the kitchen, filling the kettle and finding tea and mugs.

A hitch in her hand as she realised there was no milk.

“Dammit,” she swore to herself.

Although, Charmaine had been here…

With a grin that started before she’d seen inside, Diane opened the fridge. Sure enough, her sister had picked up perishables, and probably cleaned out some things, from the look of it. Milk was one of those items, and Diane sent a silent thank you out to her sister. She deserved an explanation at some point.

But not today.

Waiting for the kettle to boil, Diane considered the contents of her fridge and pantry, where Charmaine had clearly also had a hand in stocking. What would be easy to cook and eat?

She was still thinking about it when Nick appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a shirt she hadn’t seen before – something from his checked luggage, evidently.

“I didn’t realise it was casual dress,” he murmured, smiling at her.

“You’re welcome to change,” Diane told him. “I’m not planning on going out and I’ll probably go back to bed in the not too distant future.”

Nick nodded, relief flashing across his face. “Me too. I just wanted to be dressed again. Something I didn’t wear in Gander.”

“I noticed,” Diane smiled at him. The kettle boiled and she poured them both tea. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“My sister did some groceries,” Diane said. “But I can’t think of a single thing to make that we didn’t have in Gander.”

“Not eggs,” Nick said immediately.

“Or sandwiches,” Diane replied.

“Soup, pasta, casserole, hot dogs, cheeseburgers, fish,” Nick recited, each item a regular on the food rotation in the shelter.

“Exactly,” Diane said. “And I don’t want to cook anything, really.”

Nick shrugged. “Toast is fine.”

“Seriously?” Diane asked.

“Yes,” he said immediately.

“Okay,” she said. They didn’t talk as she made toast, bringing it to the table for them to eat together. “It’s not too much like Gander?” she couldn’t help asking him.

“Quiet room, two people,” Nick said. “As different as you could get.”

Diane nodded. Fair enough. Even if they did eat an awful lot of toast in Gander.

Nick sat at the small table, folding his hands on the table as he watched her move around the kitchen. It was familiar, the distance from the fridge to the pantry, exactly how high she had to reach to get to the plates. Only the presence of Nick was jarring. He was familiar by now, but not in this space, and she didn’t have to look over at him to be know what expression he would be wearing. As she moved back and forth – leaving milk and condiments on the table – she met Nick’s eyes, the gentle smiles they shared warming her and hinting at possibilities.

Eventually, the tea and toast were finished, and she brought the mugs over to the table before returning for a single plate of toast to share.

“Thank you,” Nick murmured.

“Anytime,” she replied. He was right, this wasn’t anything like Gander, despite the mountains of toast that had been available. The quiet was broken by domesticity, as quiet and intimate as she remembered it being. The scrape of a knife across toast, the gentle drop of milk into tea.

She watched Nick doctor his tea, his eyes watching the milk as it swirled. His eyes lingered there, and she had the strange sensation he was drawing strength from the small action. Familiarity, she thought to herself.

When he looked up, she should have glanced away. She would have in Gander; a flush would have crept up her cheeks despite her determination not to allow it, and she would have been awkward and unable to meet his eyes for a while. Later she would have berated herself.

Not here.

Now, when he looked up, calmness drawn around him, Diane met his eyes, allowing her affection to shine. To _continue_ to shine, as it had when he wasn’t looking. Her heart was thumping, as she deliberately held back the defences she’d put up again and again for so long it was a habit. What would he think? Would he leave? She waited, breathing deeply as he figured it out.

Finally, a smile bloomed on his face. It was relief, not surprise; he didn’t look taken aback at all, merely as though a suspicion or hope had been confirmed and he no longer had to hide. As she watched, the smile grew, fondness showing in his own expression, and Diane knew it wasn’t a reflection of her own emotion but his own, finally free to be shown.

And without having to say a word, she thought in amazement, sipping at her tea.

They sat in the quiet together. At some point Nick settled his hand over hers, too light to be truly certain. She didn’t put down her tea, but turned her hand over, curling her fingers around his in confirmation. It was comforting, she thought, and they were certainly on the same page now. No big Hollywood moment required; just an understanding between two souls that had become inextricably bound. Spending almost every moment together for the last almost week, it was impossible to think how they might have avoided it.

Finally their mugs were empty, only crumbs on the plate to show what they had eaten. Diane looked down, her thumb stroking the back of Nick’s hand as it la on the table in hers.

“And now?” she asked, voice quiet.

“What do you want to do?” Nick asked.

Diane didn’t allow herself to think. Thinking had gotten her in trouble lately, but acting – as she had in the last day or so – brought her here. “Go back to bed,” she said immediately.

Nick nodded, his expression still contemplative. “Jet lag,” he said seriously.

“No,” she replied. “I’m not tired yet.”

Her eyes remained on Nick as he considered that, knowing the flush was rolling up her cheeks even as she tried to prevent it. Nick noted it, and one eyebrow lifted in surprise. Perhaps it was useful, Diane thought, as she could see him make the connection to what she wasn’t saying. What she hoped he might understand she was asking. What she hoped he wanted too.

“You’re not?” Nick asked carefully.

“No,” Diane replied.

Another nod, and she could see his uncertainty. Without a word, she stood, walking around the table, his hand still connected to hers. She was taller than him like this, but not by a lot; his head tilted a little to hold her eyes.

Carefully, Diane moved their hands, still joined. They rested beside her hip, not quite comfortable but important. Nick’s knees were still tucked under the table, and she stood beside him, smiling down. He looked as though he couldn’t quite believe she was there, so she raised one hand, pressing it against his cheek.

“You need a shave,” she murmured quietly.

“I do,” he replied, his free hand settling over hers.

“I don’t mind,” Diane replied. A sudden rush of hesitation, and she took another moment, eyes lingering on the details of his face now that she was here and he clearly wasn’t averse to what was happening. When her eyes reached his mouth, she felt her heart beat faster as her fingertips flexed against his cheekbone.

“Good,” he murmured, and sparks flew under her skin as his hand traced up her arm and around the back of her neck, encouraging her to bend her head just a little, just enough to meet him as he reached up…

Their lips met, and it was like coming home to a surprise party, Diane thought. Familiar, but somehow there were fireworks. She exhaled, relaxing into the kiss. Her body swayed closer and Nick wrapped his other arm around her, holding her close.

Now that they were both in it, the kiss eased deeper, mouths sealing without hesitation. Diane realised she was making some kind of whimpering sound in the back of her throat. Embarrassing as it was there was no stopping it, Nick’s fingers on the back of her neck sending shivers down her body.

If she’d realised he would be this intoxicating she would never have waited so long. Her arms were wrapped around him, and he shifted, moving out from under the table. As their mouths pressed even closer, she could taste the strawberry preserves he’d spread on his toast. It was such an intimate detail that another shiver traced down her spine, the same path Nick’s fingers took as they drifted down her back.

She’d thought they were close but when Nick’s body was finally facing hers and she found herself standing flush with him, the intimacy skyrocketed. There was some shuffling, and she found herself standing pressed against him, one knee either side of his thigh. Close enough to feel his lungs expanding as he breathed; restlessly she pulled him closer, pressing herself against him. She was gratified to feel his arms tighten on her too.

It felt like hours passed as they swayed. Nothing changed or moved save their restless hands and mouths. The heat built slowly between them, their breathing growing deeper together. With a rush, Nick’s arms tightened and he stood up, changing the angles drastically. Diane held on automatically; he was tall enough for her to be pulled to her toes.

“Oh!” Diane gasped, the adrenalin thrilling through her veins. It broke their kiss and she found herself staring into Nick’s eyes, as unfocussed as her own felt. She slid down a little, taking her own weight on her feet as she dropped. Her arms remained around him, and his around her; she was relieved to know he wasn’t breaking things off.

They looked at each other, breathing in time. Diane could feel desire singing in her veins, and she hoped the same was true for Nick.

Their breathing slowed, eyes still locked. They were standing close, bodies still pressed close and what she wanted was crystal clear in her mind: she wanted more.

Last night their fatigue was enough to forgive her lack of words; today it was different, and given what she was thinking, words would be important.

“Nick,” she breathed, one hand coming up to his cheek. He swallowed, holding her eyes, waiting for her to speak again. “I’m still not tired.”

“No?” he whispered.

“No,” she said, heart pounding. With a shaking hand, she trailed down his back, finding his hand and lacing it with hers. “Come to bed with me?”

His eyes widened but he nodded, fingers curling around hers. They both abandoned their dishes to walk slowly down the hall back to the bedroom. Diane found herself conscious of breathing deeply; her head felt light as they crossed the threshold. She stopped for a second, taking a deep breath. Without warning Nick’s arm came around her middle; he pressed his face into the side of her neck. His stubble roughed against her skin and she breathed in sharply, her head dropping to the side without thought.

Fireworks, she thought again. So many fireworks.


End file.
